


Fireworks

by hawkflyer667



Series: Snippets of Fluff in the Lives of Merlin and Arthur Pendragon [17]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fireworks, Fun, Guy Fawkes Day, M/M, Merlin is a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:39:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkflyer667/pseuds/hawkflyer667
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has the brilliant idea to show Arthur fireworks on Guy Fawkes Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> BEFORE I START, I WILL MAKE THE COMMENT THAT I AM FROM AMERICA. I know about the 1605 Guy Fawkes day due to writing a large paper about it, and I know about the celebrations, but there's a big possibility I screwed it up. So just let that slide if I said something that wouldn't happen. This was supposed to be Fourth of July but that doesn't happen in London so I had to fiddle. :)

I watch, cautiously, as Arthur closes the door behind him with a small sigh, drawing his hand haphazardly through his blond hair. He looks haggard, as if it had been a long day and he wants nothing more to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea and a movie. Not having yet ventured out into the actual working world and still invested in my historical novel, I had been home most of the day. While mainly I would write a bit and then work on random stuff around the house, today was different. Today, I was working on something special.

Gathering my courage, I move over and meet him in the hallway. His face flickers for a moment when he sees me standing in the doorway, and it’s only for a moment but I could have sworn I saw the stress melt from his eyes. “Merlin,” he purrs, moving closer and tugging me in for a small hug and the briefest of kisses. “Why is it that the sight of you always makes it better?”

“Get off, you cheeky sod,” I grumble, but he can tell I’m only joking even after I turn away. He follows me into the living room from the hallway, closing the door behind him with his foot and then plopping unceremoniously down on the couch.

Most days, this would be how it went. Sometimes I’d grab him a cup of tea or other times I’d just snuggle up next to him with a book or switch some mind-numbing film on so we could laugh until we either went to bed or dropped into some sort of version of leisurely sex. But tonight was different. 

I rise off the couch, stretching and tugging on his arm until he moans petulantly and glances at me. “Mmmm?” he murmurs, yawning. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to move, but too bad. 

“Get up, I’ve got a surprise.” I make sure my voice is enticing enough that he does as ordered with the minimum of fuss—after twelve years of being his servant, I learned enough of the way to get Arthur to do as I wish. Funny how the servant learns just as much about how to rule his master. Or maybe that was just us.

Sitting up, he blinks at me with bleary eyes and for a moment I actually consider abandoning my plan in lieu of pushing him back along the couch to trace his lips with my tongue. But I had spent too much time working on it and I wanted Arthur more than anything to realize some of the splendors of this new world we live in.

“Come on, get up. It’s not something I can describe.” Already halfway up and interested now, Arthur does as ordered, climbing to his feet and grinning at me like a curious child, as if I’m going to reveal a present from my back pocket. 

My surprise was a bit more interesting than that. Taking his hand and twining my fingers with his warm, strong fingers, I lead him into the kitchen. A strange little light blooms in his eyes and he leans closer, pushing me slightly towards the counter—I laugh and push him away. “It isn’t sex, you moron,” I giggle.

He flushes, pouting like a child, and grumbles, “I knew that.” Shaking my head slightly in laughable scorn, I lead him closer towards the window. His eyebrow rises but he allows me to lead him wherever I want, trusting me with his safety.

I pause with my back to the window, butt slightly perched on the frame. He’s confused now, I can tell by his expression, continuously attempting to look past me and out of the blocked window.

“Wait,” I scold him lightly, gently probing at his cheek to get him to look me in the eyes. Arthur doesn’t verbalize a question, just raises his eyebrows lightly. 

“Do you trust me?” A simple question, but loaded with implications. He doesn’t hesitate even for a moment. “Of course.”

My heart warms and I am unable to mask the goofy smile that blooms on my face. He leans down low, and for a moment I abandon my plan and allow him to kiss me tenderly, his warm breath puffing against my face. I know he trusts me, of course, but – it doesn’t hurt to hear it said out loud every once in a while.

“Merlin, what is all this?” he puffs by my ear and I pull away slightly. “Stay here,” I murmur, opening the window. 

For a moment panic flashes in Arthur’s posture and he startles forward. “Merlin…. What are you….”

And then I throw myself out the window.

His startled, slightly anguished shout of my name makes me instantly regret my theatricality—I had forgotten that he’d relate it to my attempts at suicide, and my cagey actions and answers most likely hadn’t helped. I leap upwards just in time to nearly whack my head against his.

“Right here,” I soothe, grabbing his face and kissing him lightly before revealing that I was standing on the old, rusty fire escape. A long breath escapes from him and he opens his mouth as if to scold me, tears in his eyes. 

“Sorry….,” I murmur pathetically and he climbs out after me, grabbing me close and holding me as if afraid to let me go. I understand that and allow him to rock me back and forth, pressing kisses into my hair. “This is supposed to be nice,” I laugh softly, glancing up at him. “Do you still trust me?”

Arthur’s gaze had dropped to me to the unstable structure we’re standing on—while he wasn’t afraid of heights in the castle, it was because the stone under his feet seemed ridiculously sturdy. The fire escape, on the other hand, was old and rickety—I had spelled it to make sure it wouldn’t collapse but Arthur didn’t know that, nerves shown on his face. 

“Calm down,” I laugh softly, leading him up the stairs. He follows blind now—he’s no idea where we’re going or why we’re climbing stairs at dusk up onto the roof of our building. But he still follows and I’m grateful for it, soon clambering like idiots onto the roof of our building.

There’s not much up there… or there wouldn’t be if I hadn’t climbed up and down at least six times that morning. I had assembled an entire picnic set-up that mirrored the ones Arthur used to have with Gwen in the woods back in Camelot—cushions and an elaborate blanket, a basket containing food and beer and specially made sweet cakes. I also had used a combination of magic and electricity to create fairy lights that hung over everything, giving it a fantasy air as the sky turned darker.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat—he was stuck glancing between me and the set-up like some sort of broken kids’ toy. He looks to me as if he wants to say something but is completely struck dumb—his mouth hangs open and I can’t help but laugh again.

“Happy Guy Fawkes Day, love.”

He looks at me, confused—of course he wouldn’t have any clue about Guy Fawkes or the plot to blow up Parliament during November the 5th, 1605. I don’t bother explaining it to him, either the historical significance or the fact that I had very nearly gotten involved in the whole mess and didn’t like thinking about the brutal method of King James I of England at this time or the fact that I was still messed up in the affairs of the idiotic royal family. Instead I grab his hand and lead him over, pushing him down gently on the blanket.

He falls obediently, leaning back and instantly gasping at the sight of the sky. I lay down next to him, grabbing pillows and helping him make himself comfortable. “Something special about this day, Merls?” he laughs softly, turning to look at me with perfect child-like questioning in his voice—gentle, as if he knew he was probing a touchy subject.

“I don’t want to talk about the day,” I mutter and he nods, glancing back up at the sky. But I’m not finished. “But there’s a tradition of celebration on the 5th of November here in London. It’s a big deal. And there’ll be fireworks.”

“Fireworks?” 

This was what I had planned all this for. I sit up on my elbow and he turns to glance at me, innocence in his eyes. I couldn’t help but selfishly wait for his reaction when the first one exploded into colors against the sky. “I’m not going to explain them,” I grin roguishly. “Just that I swear on everything I have that they will not hurt you.”

One thing I didn’t need was Arthur panicking. 

He nods softly, glancing back up at the sky with an expression of tense nerves now—trying not to let it show. I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back—a connection between the two of us against the sky now darkening from blue to the darkest of blacks, stars revealing themselves in as bright spots against the night.

We crack open a bottle of wine and share it.

Neither of us are prepared for when the first shell explodes. I jump, but it’s nothing compared to Arthur’s reaction. The boom, even far away, is loud, and he yelps, springing to his feet and going for a sword that hasn’t been at his side for a thousand years. His eyes are wild and frantic and ---

and then he witnesses the flash of color, and he’s speechless. Guy Fawkes Day is one of celebration—of celebrating royalty. And the fireworks do not disappoint—for a holiday celebrating the continuation of the government, they pull out all the stops. Red sparks flash through the sky and from somewhere, underneath the booms of the shells exploding, we hear England’s national anthem. 

I watch him watch—his breath is panting from glory, now, as if he can’t fathom what he sees. He stands stock still, head craned upwards even though we have the perfect view from up above, breathing hard and taking everything in.

He is transfixed, and I can’t help but smile. The colors light up against his hair and clothes, bathing him in mixtures of reds, yellows, blues, and greens. His hair seems to shimmer and he maintains the posture of absolute wonder that I can’t help but imagine for a moment that he is a better spectacle than the fireworks that dance overhead.

It isn’t until he brushes his hand over his face, breaking the moment, do I realize he’s crying. I rise to my feet quickly, moving over to him, and his hand instantly drops to crush mine in the strongest of grips. I do not protest, allowing him to hold me as if he needs some sense of not being crushed by the grandor of what he is just witnessing.

“Magic…” he murmurs in a voice cracked and breathless. I don’t realize that of course it’s what Arthur would equate the fireworks to, as I never bothered to explain what they were. Slowly, I lead him by the hand back to the blanket and we lay down together and watch the colors dazzle the night sky.

As he grows more used to them, he points to the pictures and the images and cheers with his own small voice, adding it to the cacophony of voices and chaos down on the street level that we can just barely hear from way up high. I listen to him, adding my own comments—even after seeing fireworks since they were first imported to England, they never cease to amaze me.

The last one breaks out over the horizon and I pull Arthur close to me—we’re both freezing, at this point, and looking for warmth. I bundle us together in the blankets and create a simple blue fire in a mason jar to put between us.

He glances at it and laughs, kissing me. No words are exchanged—the fire is moved and he’s on me, his heat transferring to mine. Its’ as if he’s trying to express his gratitude for the amazement of the thing I just shown him, but I didn’t need gratitude. His face was more than enough. But I respond more than eagerly anyways, rolling with him as his hands slide up my shirt. I laugh, giggling into his face. He smiles down at me, promises in his eyes slitted against the wind.

Despite the cold, it was truly a magical night for the both of us.


End file.
